Making Friends Wherever he Goes
by Malcontent Ash
Summary: Life seems to be relatively settling down for Superman, which can only mean one thing: PLOT TWIST! This particular plot twist comes in the form of Bruce Wayne practically forcing himself on him at the party.


"Come on, Smallville. No matter how much time you spend straightening that thing, it'll still wind up crooked, if I know you." Lois Lane tossed her long brunette hair as Clark Kent attempted to adjust his bowtie in the rear view mirror. He gave up with a sigh before getting out of the car.

"I wouldn't have to be in this monkey suit if it wasn't for you dragging me along." The tall man squinted slightly through his glasses before stepping forward and opening her door. Lois only smiled sarcastically.

"Oh, Smallville. You're not really a member of the media until you've been forced to suffer through a Wayne Foundation event." She stepped past him, her perfume teasing Clark's super-sensitive nose. Despite his complaints, it really wasn't so bad being dragged out like this with Lois. At least it meant that she wasn't humiliated to be seen working with him anymore.

Yes, his first few months with the Daily Planet had been a little rough. He hadn't been sure that he would be able to pull off being both a reporter and Superman, but so far his life seemed to be falling in to a comfortable pattern… or as close to that as you could get as a super-powered alien acting as the sole defender of Metropolis against various forms crime ranging from petty theft to attempted take-over from intergalactic space pirates. Yes, the life he led was anything but ordinary, but lately things seemed to be working out just fine. In fact, he almost felt guilty thinking it. Whenever you thought that everything was going your way, some misplaced bit of drama always fell your way.

He continued pondering that late in the evening over a tall glass of champagne. Here he was, standing in the middle of the most elegantly decorated ballroom of the most expensive mansion on this half of the nation in an ill-fitting tuxedo he had rented at the last minute. It was times like these that he really missed Kansas. It wasn't that he wanted to be sitting in the barn in overalls working with the pigs again… _necessarily_, it was just that the giant ice sculpture of Bruce Wayne as Rodin's _The_ _Thinker _seemed a bit… excess (if not utterly tasteless). In fact, the entire event seemed a little bit… low class, ironically enough.

He had heard plenty about Bruce Wayne from the tabloids and gossip media, but he had no idea that the man's megalomania could go quite this far. The man of the hour was standing in the middle of the ballroom with a voluptuous blonde hanging off each arm. The event had been hosted by Wayne in order to raise funds for a new charity hospital in Gotham, but that seemed to be the last thing on _Brucie's _mind. He seemed to have his hands quite full. Clark tried not to snicker at the joke he had made, but champagne managed to get caught in his throat regardless.

He choked quietly in the corner, praying to god that no one would see him and Lois wouldn't have to be embarrassed by his faux pas. He coughed wetly, finally able to relax his windpipe enough to allow air past… It had been excessively suspicious that he would attempt to inhale the bubbly alcohol a second time. With a quick glance around the room he finally started to relax again. What he hadn't noticed, however, was that during his bout with suffocation, a certain individual had disappeared from his line of sight.

"Are you doing alright now?" Clark whipped his head around, shocked to see none other than Bruce Wayne standing beside him, grinning like the cat that got the canary. He glanced back to where he could have sworn the man was standing only moments ago and back to where he was standing now.

"You're pretty slick," he muttered, focusing his attention on his drink in order to hide his embarrassment. The man leaned in a little closer, whispering just close enough that Clark could feel his breath tickling his ear.

"Only where it counts." The perverted grin the man gave him left no illusions regarding the rather obvious double entendre. Clark did what he could to hide his surprise. The men in Smallville would never be so forward with a lady, let alone another man.

"Perhaps you're mistaking me for somebody else. My name is Clark Kent from the Daily Planet." Clark started to pull out his press badge to prove his point before Bruce interrupted.

"Oh, I'm quite aware who you are, Mr. Kent. Quite aware." The man who had been blatantly seducing him only a moment ago now sipped his drink politely. Clark couldn't help a shiver from running up his spine. He didn't like the way the man had said that. "I was just wondering if Lois Lane from the Daily Planet might be able to handle reporting on the foundation for tonight, leaving you with the night off." Bruce looked almost sadly at his now empty cup and as he did, Clark couldn't help but notice the scent of ginger ale in the air. He would have spent more time thinking about it, but it seemed as though the man was expecting some kind of an answer.

"I… uhm…" Bruce ignored the man's obvious hesitation, taking anything besides a direct _no _as an obvious yes. He snaked an arm around the slightly taller man's waist, drawing displeased glances from most of the single women in the room and quite a few of the married ones as well. Bruce continued to pull him closer until their hips were touching and his hand was settled into Clark's back pocket, gently cupping his buttocks. Clark's hands found their way to the one Bruce was keeping in his pocket, but before he could remove it (with slightly more force than was strictly necessary) the man leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you…" Clark let the hand scandalize him a moment longer as he considered. "I need you to play along if you don't want anyone getting hurt." The seductive lilt was gone from the socialite's voice, and it now rang with something akin to menace.

"Are you threatening me, Bruce?" The man only rolled his eyes before taking him by the hand and leading him through the crowds and into a side room. By the time the door was locked behind him, Bruce's playful smile was replaced with a bitter scowl.

"Look under the third table from the left," he ordered, his voice now gruff and commanding. Clark looked at him with mild exasperation.

"I would, but you've locked the door behind me." He raised an eyebrow at the eccentric billionaire. The man only twitched with slight irritation.

"Forget your secret identity for a moment and just look, _Superman._" Clark's mild amusement at the strange excursion quickly turned to suspicion. It was clear that Bruce was absolutely certain that he was in fact Superman and he more than likely had proof. Turning away from the man, he lowered his glasses and used his x-ray vision to look through the door. Underneath the table that Bruce had indicated was a suitcase filled with wires and C4.

"It looks like a bomb." He could feel his heart race once he realized the danger that the party was in.

"I'm the target."


End file.
